


the dividing line

by peppersnot



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, and middle class jean, and very bad description of parties, angry boys being fluffy and making out, because i havent been to any of those kinds so yeah, feeling self conscious about dating, fluff that is, rich boy eren, theres a lot of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppersnot/pseuds/peppersnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is too self conscious about class differences and Eren really doesn't give a fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dividing line

**Author's Note:**

> this was for an exchange with milktofu on tumblr and i'm pretty sure i butchered the plot i had in mind but it's 5 am you cannot blame me i'm sorry.

“Fuck my life,” Eren said as he threw himself face first onto the mattress and cuddled up to Jean’s pillow. “And your bed’s really comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Jean replied from the doorway. “It is.”

It was always weird to see Eren in his room. Not because of the whole mismatch of Eren’s hyperactive personality and bright coloured clothes with the dull tones of his room, but because it was  _Eren_ , and Jean would always, always associate Eren with money and glam and big houses; seated on one end of a huge dining table with people ready to serve him, tending to his every need.

Sometimes Jean imagined himself as one of those people – serving Eren, because he just always ended up doing whatever Eren wanted him to, although he put up more of a fight than his servants ever would. Because he wasn’t really Eren’s servant and he had the right to disobey. Which he never did.

But either way, it was still weird seeing Eren in his room, because every time he did, insecurities took over and he ended up constantly saying self-degrading things like, “I know it’s not as big as yours but it’s still nice.”

To which Eren would roll his eyes and say, “Big beds don’t have anything special about them; as long as you can have a good night’s sleep then it’s fine.”

Jean sighed and sat down next to where Eren was sprawled over, fiddling with his phone.

Marco always told him to be himself, but fuck that shit, because if there was anything he could be around Eren, being himself was  _not_  one of them.

And Eren noticed it, he knew that for sure. Eren always noticed everything. Eren with all that energy and those intense green eyes that everyone (including Jean) fucking  _swooned_  over. Eren knew very well that Jean was subject to insecurities he’d much rather not have to deal with, and  _Jean_  knew that Eren dropped subtle hints that said, no, don’t feel this way, but he was just too much of a worrier to take them.

“I have to go to this thing on the weekend,” Eren said.

Jean looked at him. “What thing?”

“I dunno, some dinner thing that my dad got invited to and he says the whole family need to come along.”

Jean nodded in understanding. Of course. Some dinner party, for all those elite families of Shiganshina, with their snobby kids and their branded dresses and rich people food, like caviar and champagne; Jean wondered what it was like. The only dinner party he had ever attended was a family reunion back when he was maybe ten, and it had ended in disaster, with Jean’s mother and aunt yelling profanities at each other while everyone else tried to hold them back.

And even  _that_  wasn’t a  _real_  dinner party. It was just a gathering for normal people with normal food and normal things to do. The only other kind of parties he’d ever been to were the frequent, wild, typical teen parties people from school kept holding.

But those weren’t  _parties_. They were just parties. And Jean really wanted to attend a  _party_.

“Well?” Eren asked, poking him in the side, and he swatted the hand away, scowling.

“Well what?”

“You’re coming with me right?”

“Where?”

“The thing on Friday, jackass. Mikasa’s not going ‘cause of some mega test and I’m gonna be bored.”

“Why the fuck should I come with you?”

Eren shrugged and turned to his phone – probably playing one of those stupid bird games again. “I just thought, you know, you’re always being all weird and asking me what it’s like so it was a chance for you to like, come and see for yourself but if you don’t want to then okay, I guess, I’ll just find another date – “

“Calm your tits; I never said I’m not coming.”

Eren grinned.

-oOo- 

In the nearly seven months of dating Eren, Jean had never seen him in a suit – not even once – and he thought it was perfectly justified that his reaction when he opened the door to Eren’s room on Friday, was that his jaw dropped and he stood in the doorway, staring at Eren as his personal maid fixed his tie.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

“I would, except I forgot my phone at home.”

Eren rolled his eyes and turned away from the full length mirror in the wall to face Jean. “Think it looks okay?”

Jean gave him a once-over, taking in the way the suit clung in all the right places and fit Eren perfectly. His hair was pushed back in a seemingly effortless manner, slick but not exactly; the suit was ironed to perfection, the tie fixed in place, making everything just look ten times better. Suddenly, he felt overly conscious in his own suit – not even his own; a hand me down from his father that sure, fit him fine, but it wasn’t  _his_ , and it didn’t look as good as Eren’s did on him.

Eren nodded at the girl who was holding his polished shoes and she set them on the floor next to Eren’s feet, before bowing to both of them and then running out of the room.

“I think she likes me too much,” Eren said, sitting on the edge of the huge bed and patting the space next to him.  Jean obliged. “She’s really clingy.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“Maybe. Why, is it working?”

“Kind of,” Jean murmured, leaning in close to kiss him softly. “You look good in that.”

“So do you. You look better without it though.”

“I don’t think this is the right time, you know.”

Eren smirked and kissed him again. “When is it  _ever_  the right time?”

The door opened and they jumped apart to see Mikasa, in a sweat shirt and pants standing in the door way, looking utterly unamused.

“They’re leaving,” she said. “Get your asses in gear and save the creepiness for later.”

Jean gulped.

-oOo-

He’d only seen Grisha Jaegar maybe two times but never in person. Once on TV, and once from far away, when he’d had to drop Eren at Jaegar Hospital. Never in person though, and even though Eren said his dad was cool, Jean couldn’t help being nervous at the thought of being around the man the entire city was supposedly grateful to, for the extremely high standard of Jaegar Hospital and the maintenance of healthcare it provided.

Not a good kind of nervous, either.

He sat next to Eren in the limo, keeping his feet on the ground and trying his best to stop any sounds his body decided to make – stomach growling (he hadn’t eaten much), sneezing, coughing and other things that would possibly embarrass him in front of Eren’s dad.

“Who’s holding this thing, anyway?” Eren asked, leaning back in the seat and stretching his legs.

“Eren, your clothes will get all crumpled!” Carla Jaegar exclaimed and Jean risked a glance at her, deciding that she was really pretty, and that Eren got his looks from her. Personality, though, he wasn’t sure, because he doubted that Carla or Grisha Jaegar could ever,  _ever_  have been like Eren.

“The Arlerts,” Eren’s dad said. “Their son’s coming of age ceremony.”

“Armin’s of age?” Eren’s jaw dropped and Jean racked his brains to try and recall where he’d heard the name Armin Arlert before. “He’s so puny – “

“Eren!”

“He  _is,_ Mom, you can’t change that.”

“You don’t say things like that, Eren.”

“Whatever.”

There was silence for a little while, before the lights flicked on in Jean’s head and he sat up straight in his seat, exclaiming, “Armin Arlert who won the Booker Prize for his book?”

Eren looked at him, unamused.

“Yes, that Armin,” Grisha Jaegar said, and Jean felt his cheeks burn. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,  _fuck._ “Have you read the book?”

“No, sir.”

“I’d recommend it. Very good at writing, that boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

An awkward silence settled in again and Eren took out his phone to start tapping at the screen again. A few seconds later, Jean’s own phone beeped and he contemplated getting it out. He knew it was Eren, saying something he wouldn’t be able to say in person – at least, not with his parents around – and given the smug smirk on Eren’s face, Jean’s curiosity was killing him. But then there were Eren’s parents sitting right opposite and what would  _they_  think?

He glanced up. Carla was looking at her reflection in a compact mirror and fixing her hair. Grisha was tapping on his own phone.

Slowly, Jean took his out of his pocket and opened the text.

_When you come to ask for my hand in marriage, please sound as cute as you did just now, calling my dad ‘sir’_

Jean scowled and shot Eren an annoyed look, causing Eren to giggle very unsophisticatedly. Carla looked up from her mirror to tell Eren to sit up and stop being such a slob.

Jean crossed his toes in the uncomfortable dress shoes and prayed that the rest of the night would go well.

-oOo- 

This was definitely a part of Eren’s life that Jean had been kept in the dark about. He looked around in awe, taking in the decoration and the lighting; the smell of all the fancy food; the women in fancy, glittery dresses and the men in the perfectly fitted suits, all adding to Jean’s already reigning self consciousness.

“You okay?” Eren whispered.

“Yeah.”

It really was too much to take. He knew Eren attended things like this, and looking at him now, he thought Eren blended in perfectly too.

It was really a wonder that Eren, who could talk trash, knew how to throw a punch; Eren who secretly smoked cigarettes in the school parking lot; Eren who had cried out Jean’s name in the most lewd and arousing voice ever as Jean whispered dirty things in his ear barely three days ago, was the same Eren who stood here in front of him in an expensive suit and tie, perfectly at home with all these rich people, in a place like this.

His hair had kind of mussed up, looking like it did in the mornings and Jean had to physically restrain himself from grabbing Eren and just  _kissing him senseless -_

“Champagne?” A passing by waiter asked, offering Jean a glass from the tray. Jean hesitated.

“Sure. I’ll have one too,” Eren said, taking two glasses off the tray and winking at the waiter as he bowed and left. He handed a glass to Jean. “Just go along with it, nobody cares about being underage here.”

“I thought rich people would be extra careful about underage drinking.”

“Nah, not at these parties.”

Jean took a sip of the champagne and savoured the taste that was  _so_  different from all the alcohol he’d ever tried before – which wasn’t much, but sometimes when his mother and sister weren’t around, he’d sneak some into his system, just to feel rebellious.

Eren drank too, looking at him with half lidded eyes and Jean swallowed, knowing full well that Eren was doing this on purpose –

“Eren!” A voice called and Jean looked over Eren’s head to see a short blonde guy he recognized as Armin Arlert – the seventeen year old author who’d won a prize for his book – approach them.

“Armin! Hey.” Eren nodded. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks!” Armin smiled and looked at Jean.

“Happy birthday,” Jean managed to say, heart pounding because oh fuck, rich people were talking to him, and all he could think of was Eren’s lips and Eren’s hot skin and Eren’s hair and he was going to fuck something up and that would be bad.

“Oh, this is Jean,” Eren said, throwing an arm around Jean’s shoulders.

Jean braced himself for a further explanation, thinking maybe being introduced as a distant cousin (who Eren regularly had sex with, what the fuck) wasn’t  _that_  bad –

“He’s my boyfriend.”

It came as a complete shock, for Eren to so openly admit something like that, to a person like Armin – though he really wasn’t one to judge, because Eren was from the same kind of background, but he was  _Eren_ and not the Jaegar heir (not to Jean, anyway) – but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling extra happy.

Which only escalated when Armin’s eyes widened in recognition and he turned to Eren, “Oh,  _he’s_  the boyfriend!”

Eren nodded and Jean raised an eyebrow at their exchange. What was that supposed to mean? He’s the boyfriend? Yeah, so?

“Eren never shuts up about you,” Armin told him, and Eren turned a bright red, murmuring “Shut up, Armin” before Armin announced that he had to go around and meet people, leaving them alone.

“You never shut up about me, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be, I only say shit stuff about you.”

“Uhuh.”

The rest of the evening passed by pretty quickly, Jean’s surprise every time Eren introduced him to people as his boyfriend slowly dying down until he’d decided that rich people really didn’t care about things like that – either that or they’re just really good at hiding their shock and astonishment.

“Eren, are you coming home with us, or you’ll leave now and come home later?” Carla asked when they were eating their dinner at the family assigned table – it was meant for four people, but was big enough for six; bigger than the table in the dining room back home and Jean wondered why rich people wasted so much space.

“Leaving now,” Eren told her. He looked at Jean’s plate, which was now empty and announced that they were done, so they were leaving, and could they please take the car and send it back?

“That was a really boring night,” Jean told Eren as they filed into the limo.

“I know. You loved it.”

“Maybe.”

Eren grinned, giving the driver Jean’s address. Jean grabbed him as soon as the car started moving, pulling him in for a heated kiss, and Eren smirked against his lips.

“I look hot in a suit, don’t I?”

“Shut up,” Jean murmured, biting softly on Eren’s bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan that he knew only he could hear, resulting in him being even more turned on than he already was. “I bet you look hotter without it.”

-oOo-

Eren still looked out of place in his room, when they got there. The bed seemed too small and simple for a being as gorgeous as Eren; the dull tones and cold temperature of Jean’s room greatly contrasting Eren’s bright colours and hot skin, but it was  _Eren_  and Eren looked good everywhere. Plus he was currently slipping out of his shirt and Jean couldn’t really bring himself to care about anything else. 


End file.
